My Rat

Today I'll make the callto exterminatethe rat that livesbehind the white plasterof my warehouse office.She's here in the morningwhen I flip the switchand catch a glimpseof her nose as it fadesinto her black space.Once there was a flashof five-digit claws,slate, soft stomach,slim tail, finely scaled;a face that slopesfrom wide, proud brow,down an aristocrat's nose.Late in the day I hearthe hungry squeaksof her blind young.Nights, she wanderssearching for foodthroughout this old millwhere long-dead weaversonce wove cheap fabric;where I spend my hoursbehind stacks of bookson an assortment of subjects:Cortés and Montezuma,the St. Bart's Day Massacre,a few on diseasesmy rat will outlast.We have shared our time,two lives, one phantom.I exited the night,she entered the day,in a dance we dancedon feet that fellsmall on the earth.

Tags

Groups

Comments

I like the intimacy here of the speaker and the rat, like an invisible bond that binds them, despite the concept of "exterminate." And the last five lines do indeed indicate that bond in their dance. Nice.

This brightens my own morning. Very nice the unanswered questions. Yes, call the exterminator: like Arjuna in the GITA, it is your dharma to kill rodents in your space; but that doesn't mean you shouldn't appreciate their intimate involvement with your own existence. Thanks again for posting!